


autumn

by upottery



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upottery/pseuds/upottery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s autumn, and Eugene’s falling like the leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	autumn

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt i received in my ask box over at [my tumblr](http://passtheammunition.tumblr.com/ask). (feel free to request anything that you would like, i love filling prompts like this!)

It’s autumn, and Eugene’s falling like the leaves. Falling under and through and in love, out of touch beyond this scene and the feel of his feet in the mud on the shores of the creek. Hours spent knowing that another sits three feet behind him, hauled up on a large stone, chuckling and refusing to join Eugene by the murky water, simply because it’s cold.

And it’s Louisiana, so the air isn’t, but the stream is chilly and refreshing between his toes, and he says as such, but Babe keeps shaking his head to Eugene’s beckoning hands. “You look too natural there for me to come up and ruin it.” Babe says, “Like a real bayou boy, Gene. Should I be expecting a crawfish dinner tonight?”

Babe’s words garner a small smile from Eugene, because they always do, always charming and sometimes piqued with a coarse accent, proof that coming down to him can take the man out of Philadelphia, but can never take South Philly out of the man.

It feels like an angel has had a grip on his heart, he’s only taken real breaths for so short a while, chest tight in war and out of war and out of love and then suddenly in, like he’s been gasping for his whole life. But he’s fond of his own complicated speech, with simple, heavy words, and he says nearly nothing of what he thinks.

Instead he reaches down, as if he’s going to roll up his pants, and splashes water towards Babe, whose immediate response is to yell, offended, “Hey, what’s the big idea?” as he vaults down and rolls his sleeves up, smirking and running towards Eugene.

The creek bed smells of earth, leaves and rocks and decay pressed deep in layers, hardly any sand. The trees shake with their remaining golden leaves, wind whistling through the branches and cultivating a low chorus, and he can hear nothing and everything above and below Babe’s laughter, and how it echoes with the gilded forest. 

And he loves him.

They both collapse into the water, clothes soaking and hair tousled and Eugene looks tenderly upon all that he does treasure, the plants and the land and this moment and this man.

So he lays his hand on Babe’s jaw, and presses his newly wet lips to Babe’s, with no words and too many, declarations that he doesn’t know how to voice. They move with each other, natural and pure, clean unlike the water and unlike the mud and unlike the more and more dead leaves that litter the dirt.

Babe pulls back and smiles at him, “You’re really somethin’, you know that? You think you’ve got everyone else fooled but I know you, Gene.”

And since his Grandmother died, Babe is the only one he’s found that truly does.


End file.
